If Pope was surprised, he hid it well. “I’d be honored.”
“No way,” Veronica heard Kevin Laughton say vehemently. “Absolutely no way.”
“Joe, what are you doing?” she asked. “You can’t leave the building, it’s not safe.”
But Joe had already jumped down, off the stage, and was striding between the tables, toward Sgt. Tony Pope, U.S.M.C., retired.
As Veronica watched, Pope led Joe—surrounded by FInCOM agents and his three SEALs—out of the room. The TV news cameras and reporters scrambled after them.
The shelter was, quite literally, right next door to the hotel. Once inside, Pope gave Joe—and the camera crews—a tour of his modest facility, from the cafeteria to the kitchen. He pointed out the holes in the roof and the other parts of the building that needed repairs. He introduced Joe to many of the longtime residents and workers.
Joe addressed them by rank, even the grungiest, rag-clad winos, and spoke to them all with the utmost respect and courtesy.
And as Joe was leaving, he slipped the jeweled ring from his finger and handed it to Tony Pope. “Fix your roof,” he said.
Tears sprang to the older man’s eyes. “Your Highness,” he said. “You’ve already given us so much.” He gestured to the TV cameras. “The publicity alone is priceless.”
“You need some quick cash, and I have one ring too many,” Joe said. “The solution is so obvious. So simple.” He smiled into the TV news cameras. “Just like my friend Cindy says.”
“Oh, Joe, that ring’s not yours to give away,” Veronica breathed, knowing that she would pay for the ring herself, if she had to.
* * *
The final scene in the evening news report showed all of the men in the Boylston Street Shelter sharply saluting Prince Tedric as he left the building.
“Sergeant Tony Pope asks that contributions be sent directly to the Boylston Street Shelter,” the news anchor said, “at 994—”
The phone rang, and Veronica pushed the Mute button as she answered it.
“Did you see it?” It was Henri Freder, the Ustanzian ambassador. “Did you see the news? It’s not just a local story, it’s being run nationally, and by the cable network.”
“I saw it,” Veronica said.
“Gold,” Freder said. “Pure, solid gold.”
“I know that ring was valuable, sir,” Veronica started to say. “But—”
“Not the ring,” Freder enthused. “Prince Tedric’s image! Absolutely golden! He is America’s newest hero. Everyone loves him. We couldn’t have done it better if we’d tried. I’ve got to go, my other phone is ringing—”
Veronica stared at the disconnected telephone and slowly hung up the receiver. Everyone loved Prince Tedric—who was really a sailor named Joe, and not a real prince at all.
Or was he?
He was more of a prince than Tedric had ever been.
Now, because of Joe, everyone loved Prince Tedric. Except Veronica. She was falling in love with a prince named Joe.
* * *
Veronica had two hours to rest before the party. She lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, trying not to let the words Joe had spoken on the plane echo in her mind.
The kiss they’d shared. It didn’t mean anything.
She was in love with a man who had told her, on more than one occasion, that the best she could hope for with him was a casual sexual relationship. He’d told her that the kisses they’d shared meant nothing to him.
He did desire her, though.
Veronica knew that from looking into his eyes. She knew it, too, from the way he’d kissed her in the chapel at Saint Mary’s. If they’d been alone, it wouldn’t have taken much for that one, single kiss to escalate into lovemaking.
But he didn’t love her.
So now what? Was she going to just sit around loving Joe from a distance until the terrorists were caught, until he went back to SEAL Team Ten’s temporary base in California? Or was she going to do something foolish, like make love to the man, stupidly hoping that the physical act would magically make him fall in love with her, too?
It would never happen. He would have all he’d ever wanted from her—sex. And she would have a broken heart.
A single tear slid down the side of her face and lodged rather uncomfortably in her ear. Perfect. She was now one-hundred-percent pitiable and pathetic.
The telephone rang, and Veronica rolled over and looked at it. She contemplated letting the front desk take a message, but after three rings, she finally picked it up. She wasn’t going to get any sleep anyway.
“Veronica St. John,” she said on a sigh.
“Hey.”
It was Joe.
Veronica sat up, hastily wiping the moisture from her face, as if he would somehow be able to tell she’d been crying. She hadn’t expected the caller to be Joe. Not in a million years. Not after their dreadful conversation on the plane.
“Are you awake?” he asked.
“I am now,” she said.
“Oh, damn,” he said, concern tingeing his voice. “Did I really wake you?”
“No, no,” she said. “I was just…No.”
“Well, I won’t take too much of your time,” Joe said. His husky voice sounded slightly stiff and unnatural. “I just wanted to tell you that if you get any flak about me giving away that ring of Tedric’s—”
“It’s all right,” Veronica interrupted. “The ambassador called and—”
“I just wanted to let you know that I’ll pay for it,” Joe said. “I don’t know what I was thinking—giving away something that didn’t belong to me. But—”
“It’s all taken care of,” Veronica said.
“It is?”
“Your popularity rating is apparently through the roof,” she told him. “I think the Ustanzian ambassador is considering having you knighted or perhaps made into a saint.”
Joe laughed. “I can see it now. Joe, the patron saint of celebrity impersonators.”
“Don’t you mean, the patron saint of dying children and struggling causes?” Veronica said softly. “You know, Joe, you never fail to surprise me.”
“That makes two of us,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. I should go—”
“You really are softhearted, aren’t you?” Veronica asked.
“Honey, I’m not soft anywhere.” She could almost see him bristle.
“I didn’t mean that as an insult,” she said.
“Look, I just have a problem with the way this country treats war veterans, all right?” he said. “I’m tired of seeing good men, soldiers and sailors who risked their lives fighting for this country, being forced to live in the lousy gutter.”
Veronica pushed her hair from her face, suddenly understanding. This was personal. This had something to do with that old sailor Joe had known when he was a child. What was his name…? “Frank O’Riley,” she said, hardly realizing she’d spoken aloud.
Joe was silent for several long seconds. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Old Man O’Riley went on a binge and lost his job. Got himself evicted. It damn near killed him to think of losing his garden, and he sobered up, but it was too late. No one helped him. He was a war hero, and he was out on the street in the goddammed middle of the goddammed winter.”
“And because of that, he died,” Veronica guessed correctly.
“He caught pneumonia.” Joe’s voice was curiously flat, and she knew by his lack of inflection and emotion that Frank O’Riley’s death still hurt him deeply.
“I’m sorry,” Veronica murmured.
Joe was quiet again for a moment. Then he sighed. “What I don’t get, is how the hell our armed forces can send our guys to fight a war without really preparing them. And if we are going to send out these…kids, then we shouldn’t be so damned surprised when they come home and fall apart. And then—and this is real genius—we try to sweep the pieces under the rug so no one will see. Nice move, huh?”
“Those are
pretty tough words for someone who specializes in making war,” Veronica said.
“I’m not suggesting we demilitarize,” Joe said. “I think that would be a mistake. No, I just think the government should take responsibility for the veterans.”
“But if there were no wars, there’d be no veterans. If we spent money on diplomatic relations rather than guns and—”
“Right,” Joe said. “But there are enough bad guys in the world that wouldn’t hesitate to step forward and kick some butt if our country couldn’t defend itself. I mean, sure we could hand out flowers and love beads, but we’d get back a round of machine-gun fire in our gut. There are some mean bastards out there, Ronnie, and they don’t want to play nice. We need to be as tough and as mean as they are.”
“And that’s where you come in,” Veronica said. “Mr. Tough and Mean. Ready to fight whatever war pops up.”
“I’m a fighter,” Joe stated quietly. “I’ve been prepared for war my entire life.” He laughed softly, his voice suddenly so intimate and low in her ear. “It’s the other surprises in life that knock me over.”
“You are so utterly un-knock-overable.” Veronica wished the same were true of herself.
“You’re wrong,” Joe countered. “The past few days, I can barely remember what solid ground feels like.”
Veronica was quiet. She could hear Joe breathing on the other end of the phone line, three doors down the hotel corridor. “Cindy?” she asked softly. He didn’t say a word. “I’m sorry,” she added. “I should have prepared you more for—”
“Not Cindy,” he said. “I mean, going to see her was tough, but…I was talking about you.”
Veronica felt all the air leave her lungs. “Me?” She couldn’t speak in more than a whisper.
“God, would you look at the time? I gotta go.”
“Joe, what—”
“No, Ronnie, I don’t know why I said that. I’m just asking for trouble and—” He broke off, swearing softly.
“But—”
“Do yourself a favor tonight, babe,” Joe said brusquely. “Stay the hell away from me, okay?”
The phone line was disconnected with a click.
Veronica sat on the bed for a long time, holding the receiver against her chest. Was it possible…? Could it be…? Did Joe think she was the one who didn’t want any kind of relationship?
What was it that he’d said on the plane…? About the kiss they’d shared…It didn’t mean anything, and I know you’re not going to let it happen again.
You’re not going to let it happen again.
Not we. You. Meaning Veronica. Meaning…what? That she was the one who was preventing their relationship from growing?
The telephone began to emit a series of piercing tones, and Veronica quickly dropped the receiver into the cradle.
If Joe really thought she didn’t want a relationship with him, then she was going to have to set him straight.
Veronica stood and crossed to the closet, her nap forgotten. She looked quickly through her clothes, glancing only briefly at the rather staid dress she’d intended to wear to the party tonight. That dress wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all….
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JOE STOOD IN the marble-tiled front hallway of Armand and Talandra Perrault’s enormous Beacon Hill town house, chatting easily in French with the couple who were the host and hostess of tonight’s party.
Armand Perrault was a charming and gracious silver-haired Frenchman who’d retired a millionaire from his import-export business. His wife, Talandra, was a tall, beautiful young black woman with a rich, infectious laugh.
Talandra had known Veronica from college. Apparently they’d been roommates and good friends. They’d even gone on vacations together—that was how Talandra had met Wila Cortere, Joe’s supposed sister.
God, at times like this, Joe felt like such a liar.
“Where is Véronique, Your Highness?” Talandra asked him.
He fought the temptation to shrug. “She wasn’t ready to leave the hotel when I was,” he said instead in Tedric’s royal accent. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”
Ambassador Freder was in the surveillance van, sitting in Veronica’s seat, ready to provide names and facts and any other information Joe might need.
Damn, how he wished it was Veronica whispering in his ear. Even though this party was not public and therefore technically a low risk, Joe was on edge. He liked knowing that Veronica was safely tucked away in the van, out of danger. Tonight, he was going to spend all of his time wondering where she was, and praying that she was safe.
Damn, he hated not knowing where she was. Where was that other limousine?
“May I get you another glass of champagne?” Talandra asked.
Joe shook his head. “No, thank you.”
He could feel Talandra’s dark brown eyes studying him. “You’re not as Wila and Véronique described you,” she said.
“No?” Joe’s gaze strayed back to the front door as several FInCOM agents pulled it open.
Please, God, let it be her…
The woman who came in the door was a redhead, but there was no way on God’s earth it could be Veronica, wearing a dress that exposed so much skin and—
Hot damn!
It was her. It was Veronica.
Over his earphone, Joe could hear Cowboy. “Whoo-ee, boss, babe alert at eleven o’clock!”
Sweet God! Veronica looked…out of this world. The dress she was wearing was black and long, made of a soft silky fabric that clung to her every curve. Two triangles of black barely covered her breasts, and were held up by two thin strips of fabric that crossed her shoulders and met between her shoulder blades, at the cutaway back of the dress. There was a slit up the side of the skirt, all the way up to the top of her thigh, that revealed flashes of her incredible legs. Her shoes were black, with high, narrow heels that were a polar opposite to the clunky-heeled pumps she normally wore.
She was wearing her hair up, piled almost haphazardly on top of her head, with stray curls exploding around her face.
“Tell me, Your Excellency, does Véronique know how you feel?” Talandra whispered into his ear.
Startled, he glanced at her. “Excuse me?”
She just smiled knowingly and crossed the room toward Veronica.
“Yeah, Your Mightiness,” Harvard said over Joe’s earphone as Joe watched Veronica greet her old friend with a warm hug and kiss. “You might want to keep that royal tongue inside your royal mouth, do you copy that?”
Joe couldn’t see Cowboy or Harvard, but he knew that wherever they were, they could see him. But what exactly did they see? And what had Talandra seen in his face that made her make that very personal comment?
Was he that transparent? Or was this just the way being in love was? Was it impossible to hide? And if so, could Veronica see it just as easily? If so, he was in big trouble here.
Veronica turned her head, about to glance in his direction, and he abruptly turned away. He’d have to stay far, far away from her. He’d already revealed way too much this afternoon, when he’d talked to her on the phone. And damn it, he was trying hard not to be in love with her. How tough could it be? After all, he’d spent nearly his entire life not in love with Veronica. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get back to that state.
What was love, anyway, but a mutated form of lust? And he’d easily walked away from women he’d lusted after before. Why, then, did his legs feel as if they were caught in molasses when he tried to walk away from Veronica?
Because love wasn’t lust, and love wasn’t something a man could turn off and on like a faucet. And he was crazy in love with this woman, no matter that he tried to convince himself otherwise.
And God, if she found out, her gentle pity would kill him.
“Hell, boss,” Cowboy said. “She’s heading straight toward you, and you’re running away?”
“You’ve got it backward, Cat,” Harvard chimed in. “A woman like that walks in your dire
ction, you stand very, very still.”
Blue’s south-of-the-Mason-Dixon-Line accent made his voice sound gentle over Joe’s earphone, but his words were anything but. “You boys gonna enjoy explaining to Admiral Forrest how you got Joe Cat killed while you were watchin’ women instead of watchin’ for T’s?”
Cowboy and Harvard were noticeably silent as Joe moved around the corner into an enormous room with a hardwood floor.
It was the ballroom—not that he’d ever been in a ballroom in a private house before. But it was pretty damn unmistakable. A jazz trio was playing in one corner, the furniture was placed around the edges of the room and people were out in the middle of the floor, dancing. This had to be the ballroom. It sure as hell wasn’t the bathroom or the kitchen.
Joe headed for a small bar set up in the far corner, across from the band. The bartender greeted him with a bow.
“Your Highness,” the young man said. “What can I get for you?”
Whiskey, straight up. “Better make it a ginger ale,” Joe said instead. “Easy on the ice.”
“I’ll have the same,” said a familiar voice behind him. It was Veronica.
Joe didn’t want to turn around. Looking at her from a distance had been hard enough. Up close, that dress just might have the power to do him in.
He closed his eyes briefly, imagining himself falling to his knees in front of her, begging her to…what? To marry him? Yeah, right. Dream on, Catalanotto.
He forced a smile and made himself turn. “Ms. St. John,” he said, greeting her formally.
She smiled up at him. Light gleamed off her reddish gold hair, and her eyes seemed to sparkle and dance. She was unbelievably beautiful. Joe couldn’t imagine that at one time he’d thought her less than gorgeous.
She lifted her hand, and he took it automatically, bringing it halfway to his lips before he realized what he was doing. God Almighty, all those hands he’d pretended to kiss over the past few days…But this time, he wasn’t going to have to pretend. He brought Veronica’s hand to his mouth and brushed his lips lightly across her delicate knuckles.
He heard her soft intake of breath, and when he glanced up, he could see that her smile had faded. Her blue eyes were enormous, but she didn’t pull her hand away.
Tall, Dark and Dangerous Vol 1: Tall, Dark and FearlessTall, Dark and Devastating Page 17
